


Besides, there's jellybeans, everywhere.

by lucifucker



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Slight Hurt/Comfort, also lil bits of trohley for u fellow trohley lovers, andy joe and patrick are the best uncles ever, domestic fluffy shit, not really peterick-centric but still in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:38:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifucker/pseuds/lucifucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a simple fact of life that the band as a whole spoils Bronx.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Besides, there's jellybeans, everywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Bel asked me for Peterick with spoiling Bronx, so. Yeah. Ask and ye shall receive. 
> 
> Reviews are love, be kind.

It's a simple fact of life that the band as a whole spoils Bronx.

Spoils, in that Joe shows up on the front doorstep on his fifth birthday with a baby Jaguar he designed himself to be perfectly fit to Bronx's little fingers, grins like he's won the fucking lottery when the little guy throws his arms around his neck and shrieks "I love you, uncle Joe!" at the top of his lungs, and then half drags, half-carries Bronx down to the beach so that he can dunk him in the ocean and then buy him every kind of disgusting meaty junk food that Pete and the other guys refuse to get. 

And of course there's Andy, who comes over the day after they get back from tour and helps Pete's fucking five-year-old son construct a full drum kit out of pots, pans, and serving utensils on the floor of the kitchen, complete with a bass made out of their yet-unused broiling pot and cymbals made out of collanders. Andy, who sits on the floor with Bronx in his lap and tries to teach him the opening to Dance Dance, and when he gets too frusturated to go on, helps make the kit into a castle complete with a moat on the floor made out of bowls full of water.

And finally, Patrick, who's the worst of them all by a long shot. Patrick, who wakes Bronx up in the morning with fucking homemade blueberry waffles, and sits with him for literally six hours while they watch Scooby Doo on Netflix and then pretend to be Shaggy and Scooby (guess which one Patrick is). 

 

At this point, Pete's just kind of thankful that his son has such a great group of uncles keeping him happy. 

 

The day that Ashlee says she wants a divorce, and that she's going to sue for full custody, and Pete's world breaks apart. He doesn't lock himself in his room, because he's past that, but he does sit down in front of his computer on the couch and not get up for almost a day trying to find out every law he possibly can about custody agreements, because he's not the best or the smartest guy in the world, but this is his kid, and he's not letting her take him away. 

And when he has to rush out the door to meet with the lawyer, he doesn't give it a second thought before he calls Joe, because what the fuck else is he going to do. He calls Joe, and babbles mindlessly into the phone for five minutes until he hears the soft, but firm;

"Pete." And he can finally stop, but his chest is still too constricted for him to get any air in. 

"Can you take him?" He half-gasps, and he can perfectly visualize the way that Joe's nodding against the phone.

"I'll be there in ten, okay? Breathe, Panda." The voice on the other end is soothing and smooth and it's all Pete can do not to collapse right then and there as he hangs up. 

 

Five minutes later Joe rushes through the door with his hair tied back in the messiest bun Pete's ever seen, his jacket half-hanging off, and toothpaste on the corner of his mouth, but he drags him in and holds him as tight as he possibly can all the same, and is fucking grateful. 

They pull back, and Joe nods, claps him on the back and pushes him toward the door. 

"Go. I got this. Go." And it's all Pete can do not to fucking kiss him because he's never done anything in his life to deserve friends like this. 

 

It goes better than he'd hoped, but it's not perfect, and when he comes home it's with a sense of defeat lying heavy on his conscience. He stomps in from the rain that's started falling in buckets outside with sunken eyes and heavy shoulders.

 

Eyes which perk up immediately as he walks in the door, because the very first thing he sees is that his entire living room has been turned into a blanket fort, from the inside of which he can hear Bronx's elated laughter and the soft timbre of Andy's voice. He slips off his boots and gets down on his knees, crawling in under the flap that serves as a door to the enclosure, noting appreciatively that someone's strung the christmas lights Patrick brought last year up around the place, filling it with soft, yellow light. 

He grins as he's greeted by the sight of Joe holding Bronx in his lap, long fingers wrapping easily around the little boy's chest while Andy tickles under his arms and neck, and Bronx gurgles and squeals, flapping his chubby little arms out to the sides while Joe rocks him from side to side. 

"Dada!" He shrieks when he spots Pete crawling toward them, and Andy turns around with an easy smile, and ceases in his torture of the kid, while Joe lets him down onto the pillows and blankets covering the already-carpeted floors. Bronx crawls over to Pete with the speed of a fucking cheetah, and in seconds he's got an armful of blonde curls and chubby cheeks pressed against his chest. He presses his face into Bronx's hair and closes his eyes, too happy and proud to care about anything other than this moment, right here, and how fucking perfect it is. 

 

Later, when Bronx has finally gone to sleep, and Joe and Andy have taken down the elaborate fort, despite Pete's insistence that it adds to the scenery of the room, they sit down around the kitchen table and Pete explains what he can. Andy sits quietly with his fingers threaded through Joe's on the tabletop and Joe nods slowly, rubbing his forehead a few times but remaining silent. Pete explains about the cheating, on both sides, which they mostly knew, about the laws surrounding custody and what he's going to have to deal with in order to get the best he can out of this. 

"So, basically, it's...it's gonna fucking suck, but I'm just gonna have to weather through it, I guess." He finishes out, and there's a moment of pause where Andy and Joe exchange a look, and Pete feels like he's definitely missing something, before Joe looks up, and says;

" _We're_ gonna have to weather through it." And Pete's heart clenches because fuck, how can you even respond to that? 

As it turns out he doesn't have to think of a way, because right then there's the click of the front door, and a wet, bedraggled Patrick stomps inside, dripping with rainwater and looking frantic as he rushes into the kitchen, and all Pete can do is fucking stare, because Patrick's supposed to be across the country.

"What happened?" Patrick demands, stopping only when he gets to where Pete's sitting, and he's dripping on the floor but Pete can't really bring himself to care, because Patrick is  _here._

And, of course, because he's a fucking idiot, the only thing that comes out of his mouth is; "What?"

Patrick's mouth presses into a thin line, and he narrows his eyes just a little in that fucking bitch-look that Pete's been on the recieving end of since he was nineteen. 

"With the lawyer, Pete. What happened with the lawyer." And Pete's still processing, because he called a lot of people, but Patrick definitely wasn't one of them, because Pete can deal with a lot, but dealing with Patrick, and the weird place they're in right now combined with the fact that he might _lose his kid_ is too fucking much, and his brain is having trouble comprehending that Patrick's here, in front of him, not in New York. He shakes his head, slowly, and swallows thickly. 

"Um...uh...if...we get a good case, then...it...should be okay, but--" Andy takes this opportunity to interrupt. 

"I called him." He says softly, looking up from the table and shooting Pete a look, and Patrick nods.

"I took the first flight out." And it's not a descision, it's a compulsion for Pete to push himself up out of his chair and wrap his arms around Patrick so tight he can barely breathe, and he's never been more relieved in his life when Patrick hugs back, fingers curling almost instinctively into Pete's hair and his lips pressing against his temple. 

"You're here." Pete gasps, and Patrick nods. 

"Of course I'm here."

Patrick pulls back and molds their lips together and it's the most fucking perfect thing Pete's ever felt.

That night, he snuggles up in bed with Patrick pressed against his back and Bronx curled against his chest, and he just has to pray that he can get this again. 

 

In the end, he gets partial custody, which was the best any of them could have hoped for, and it's not easy, but it's also not as hard as it could be, and Pete's thankful for that. Joe, Andy, and Patrick are there with him through the whole thing, sometimes silent, sometimes loud. They all testify on his behalf, and Pete's pretty sure he's never heard Andy speak that much in one go before, but apparently he's got a lot to say. He goes on for as long as he needs to, and he does need to, because everything that Andy says means something, and this much means everything, and Pete will never stop thanking whatever gods may be for bringing Andy Hurley into his life. In the end, Pete's pretty sure that he's crying, but he can't really tell because his whole body is already too numb. 

Joe is unsurprisingly short and to the point, but his words carry as much if not more weight than Andy's. 

"Pete's the best dad I've ever met, including my own." He says simply, shrugging and pushing a lock of hair back behind his ear. "I can't even imagine a world where Bronx has to grow up without a dad like that." 

When Patrick speaks, it's sort of a combination of the two, he doesn't ramble, but he also doesn't need to say much, and Pete's grateful for that, and when he sits back down behind Pete, his fingers press gently against the back of Pete's neck, soft pressure that, to anyone else, would look like nothing, but focuses Pete's thoughts from a whirlwind of  _scaredcan'tconfusedBronxBronxBronxcan'ttakehimawayBronxnoBronx--_ Patrick. 

 

The night after the verdict, Bronx hugs Pete goodbye and goes home with Ashlee for the weekend, and Pete tries to ignore the ache in his chest that says that it won't be the same. 

 

But then Patrick's arms are around his waist, and his lips are pressed against Pete's pulse point, and he's whispering exactly what Pete needs to hear, _you did so well, today. I'm so proud of you._ and Pete, he just melts, his whole body relaxing against Patricks even as Patrick is slowly guiding him toward the bedroom. 

 

And it's then that Pete remembers that the last time they actually talked about this, whatever this thing was between them, Patrick said he needed space, needed time to think, needed time away from Pete, and as he lies down on soft comforters with Patrick on top of him, he stops. 

"What are we doing?" He breathes, and Patrick bumps their noses together, slotting himself between Pete's legs. 

"Loving." He says, and then they're kissing, and Patrick is a warm, solid weight on top of him, and who the fuck could turn that down?

 

Which brings them to now, sitting on the floor of the living room with Joe parading Bronx around on his back, professing that he can  _come down when he's big enough to get away,_ while Bronx laughs and screeches and climbs on top of Joe's head, and Andy buries his face in the pillow on the couch next to him and Pete and mutters into it that he regrets every romantic descision he's ever made. Joe just grins and leans down, tugs Andy's head up just long enough to steal a kiss before Bronx proclaims that that is _so gross, uncle Joe, stoppit!_

 _  
_Pete just sits back with Patrick's arm around his shoulders and his feet up on the table until Bronx demands that uncle Patrick rassle, and Patrick complies without complaint, sliding down off the couch and accepting Bronx from Joe's arms with ease, and subsiquently allowing himself to be pinned to the ground by the six-year-old's clearly superior strength.

Joe collapses into the couch between Pete and Andy, and Pete vaguely sees their hands come together out of the corner of his eye as Joe leans against him. 

"We made it, man." He pants, grinning while Andy's head rests on his shoulder, and Pete nods, watching Patrick lift Bronx high into the air with the kind of smile on his face he only ever gets for the things he really, truly loves. 

"Yeah." Pete says, and slowly begins to get up, aiming for Patrick's legs. "Yeah, we did."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
